Defining Luck
by Commander Copyright
Summary: A Series of OneShots, concerning, for the most part, two individuals: Ms. Miranda Lawson, And Commander John Shepard. First Fic. Implied Miranda/MShep.
1. Chapter 1

Ms. Miranda Lawson was not normally one to ask for advice, nor was she one to ask anything of an alien. Yet, on this one subject, she found herself contemplating both.

She stood before the hatch that led to the gunnery control center, acutely aware of the curious stare of the nameless crewman currently sitting at the mess table. He was nameless because she hadn't thought to identify him, though she knew the files of every being on the ship, a mistake she normally wouldn't have made, which just went to show how much her mental state had been befuddled by what was on her mind.

Miranda's shoulders drooped just a little, her version of a sigh, as she reluctantly decided to go through with it. Not that it had ever really been an issue. She was here now, and if she started something, she always finished it. That, and coming all the way up here, stopping, then going back would just look silly, it might even compromise her authority.

She started to take the step that would trigger the door's motion sensors, but it opened before it should have, and Miranda found herself face-to-chestplate with the scarred visage of Garrus Vakarian. Somewhat startled – again, a misstep she normally wouldn't have made – Miranda took a step backwards as Garrus came to an ungainly halt.

"Ms. Lawson." he said, making the words a greeting and question at the same time.

"Vakarian." She replied, imbuing the name with as much meaning as she could cram into four syllables - which, admittedly, was not much. Garrus, as far as she could read turian facial cues, seemed confused, with a fair amount of caution thrown in. "Do you have a minute? I need to ask you something."

The turian hesitated for a mere moment before speaking. "Sure. I was just on my way to grab something to eat. Your chef knows less about turian meals than he does human, so it can wait." He turned around and walked back towards the console on the far wall. "So, what do you want to know?" He asked as he leaned back, uncomfortably close to the launch trigger for the disruptor racks. Ignoring this as best she could, Miranda stepped inside, and cursed her jumpiness when the door closed.

_Damn it, I'm not used to this._

Garrus, either disregarding or just not seeing her unusual anxiety, patiently wait for her to start talking. Miranda suddenly found herself at a loss for words, all the different renditions of this conversation that she had planned out beforehand suddenly evaporated. To her own surprise, she found herself just coming out with it point blank.

"Well, you know, of all of us, you've known Commander Shepard the longest, except for Joker and Doctor Chakwas. So, I figured that you would be the one to ask."

Whatever Garrus had been expecting, he probably hadn't thought it would be about John Shepard. "I'm not sure what you mean" he said, clearly a little confused. "What do I know that Joker or the Doctor couldn't tell you?"

"This isn't about his record or his achievements" She said. "I can look at those whenever I want. This is a little more personal. As for someone else, Doctor Chakwas just drank half a bottle of brandy, so she's in no shape to have a serious discussion, and Joker is, well,…"

"Joker" finished Garrus. "Got it. But again, what can I tell you about him that you don't already know?"

Miranda took a few breaths, collecting her thoughts, then she pressed on. "Shepard has accomplished a great many things during his career, more than most, more than almost anyone, frankly." Miranda absently started pacing. "But I don't see how he's managed to do it. I look at his skills, talents, and I don't see anything truly exceptional. He's not a biotic, or genetically engineered. In the field, he's useless with anything not related to his rifle." She stopped her pacing, then gestured at Garrus. "I've seen both of you in action, he's good, but you're an even better shot than he is. He's a good tactician, but I've seen him make mistakes I wouldn't have."

Garrus was silent, his face unreadable as Miranda started pacing again. "Shepard is a leader, a natural, but I've seen people who could work a crowd into a frenzy with a lot less effort. And yet," She said, coming to a halt. "And yet I cant see anyone else going through what we have and pulling it off. You couldn't do it, Jacob couldn't do it, I certainly couldn't do it. Why? What makes him so special?" She asked, feeling just a little frustrated, and turning away.

"Luck?" Said Garrus.

"What?" Miranda said in surprise.

"Luck. As in he routinely beats the odds without explainable reason. I mean, look at our hunt for Saren. He was always in the right place at the right time, if he had reached certain places a few minutes later, or talked to the wrong people, or just taken a bad step, it all would have been over." Garrus had gone from a slouch back up to a ramrod-straight, military-style stance. "More recently, he was killed when the Normandy was destroyed, but you brought him back." He shrugged. "Of course, getting killed in the first place might counterbalance being brought back. On the upside though, he didn't have to live through these last two years."

"So, that's it, you think?" Miranda asked, a little hesitantly. "Just luck, dumb luck?"

"Maybe. But truthfully, I don't think so." As far as she could read his face, the turian looked very thoughtful. "I don't know what it is about him that makes him so unique. You're right that he isn't the best at any one thing, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone who could match him in all those categories." Garrus stopped, and suddenly spitted her with a piercing stare. "But," he continued slowly. "It's not just his abilities. I have an idea, a very hazy image, of what it is, exactly."

"You mind sharing?" Asked Miranda, as she tried to resume a more business-as-usual posture.

"You ever see Shepard do something you could describe as morally questionable?" Garrus said.

"No." Miranda answered simply. It had been a source of significant frustration early on, she had believed Shepard to be merely unwilling to make the hard choices, now she was not quite so sure.

"Me neither" said Garrus. "I've seen Shepard get angry a lot of times, but I've only seen him act on that once. I certainly couldn't disagree at the time. In all my experiences, I've never seen anyone, human, turian, asari, salarian, or anyone from any other race you pick, who was able to retain their morals in the worst kind of circumstances. It's been a little frustrating occasionally, but the more I see it, the more I realize that it is a source of strength." As he talked, Miranda peripherally noted that he was now the one pacing while she stood still.

"If Shepard decides that something needs to be done, or needs to be prevented, because it's the _right thing to do_, then no force I've ever seen can stop him. It doesn't make a whole lot a sense, but he has reserves that the rest of us don't have and can't see. Reserves that he can draw upon if he is protecting someone, or something. Reserves that allow him to take on enemies so much stronger than he is, if he knows that he needs to defeat them." Suddenly, Garrus stopped, and suddenly looked abashed. "Or maybe I'm just blathering on like an idiot. I don't know. All I know is that I've never known anyone like Shepard before, and never will again. And… that's about all I have to say about it." He finished somewhat lamely.

Miranda just stood, barely noticing the turian staring at her curiously. "So… Why do you ask?" he said inquiringly. She looked up.

"Well, you've been honest with me, I suppose you deserve a straight answer. I spent the last two years of my life putting Shepard back together, but I never stopped to wonder just _who_ I was resurrecting. The more I know about him, the more I'm intrigued, and the more I want to know." She shrugged. "I suppose it's an obsession."

"And I suppose it has nothing to do with you wanting to drag him to bed one of these days?"

"_WHAT!?" _She all but yelled, completely missing the teasing undertone of Garrus's words.

"I'm sorry!" Garrus said hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I was just joking. I understand, the Commander isn't your type, though I imagine that most human women would be very happy to have him."

Calming down slightly, Miranda tried to regain her composure. She needn't have bothered, Garrus looked so worried that he had offended her that he didn't consider that he might have hit closer to the mark than he realized. As soon as she was reasonably certain that she could open her mouth without shouting, she spoke. "Apology accepted, though you might want to learn a bit more about the human sense of humor before you try another one." With that, Miranda said farewell to Garrus, and stiffly walked out of gunnery control. She completely ignored the crewman at the mess table, who was staring after her with even more curiosity than usual.

Soon enough, Miranda was secure in the safety of her quarters. Sitting at her desk, hands on the keypad, eyes fixed to the screen, she appeared to be simply reviewing reports, as per her usual custom. She didn't really see the computer though, instead, she was thinking about what Garrus had said. She tried to think about his opinion of why Shepard was Shepard, but she kept flicking back to that last remark. She kept trying to banish it from her thoughts, but it had too much truth in it to ignore. So she sat, fuming.

_Damn turian._


	2. Chapter 2: Florescence

Disclaimer: I forgot to stick one of these on the last chapter, so here goes: I own nothing from Mass Effects 1 or 2, or any content or characters from any of Bioware's other games. I'm not even entirely sure I own my Shepard.

Author's notes:

I forgot to stick one of_ these_ on the last chapter I wrote too. It's nothing important, really, just a few explanations. First off, this is the first Fanfiction I've ever posted. Which is not to say it's the first I've ever written, but I've never finished anything, nor have I done a one-shot (Or a series of them) before, and I must say that the previous chapter is probably the best stuff I've ever written. Which is bad for you guys, since I'm in the process of writing a full-fledged 100,000 (hopefully) words-plus fic, (crossover, actually) that's nowhere near as good as this. So if you thought the last chapter was ****, (or this one, for that matter) you should run screaming when it comes up.

I originally intended for this to be a simple one-shot, but after I posted it, scenes kept popping into my head that I probably won't be able to incorporate elsewhere, so I figured I might as well stick them here. As such, this is not a coherent story, per se, but I'll try to keep Shepard and his exploits consistent between these disconnected chapters.

For anyone who played the original Mass Effect, but haven't gotten the second game, I highly recommend it. The other person in this house who plays it disagrees with me on virtually every single change that I think is an improvement, but my two cents worth is that it is vastly more epic than the first game, and definitely worth it. Unless you're a game addict like me, in which case you are probably better off without it, as it will wreck any shreds of your personal life you have remaining.

As almost everyone says, 'I welcome constructive criticism, but please keep flame mails in your draft box.'

As you might have noticed, the previous chapter had a mostly serious tone. This one is placed firmly in the 'Humor' category.

And now, with much further ado, the (not-quite) story.

*****

Lieutenant Commander John Shepard, formerly and formally deceased, knelt in front of his armor locker, oblivious to the outside world, oblivious, that is, until a shark _squeak _made him jerk around in surprise, hand reaching for a sidearm that was half a galaxy away on the table next to his personal console. His nerves calmed back down to normal once he reminded himself that it was just the space hamster he kept in a cage on the other side of his room, as far away from the bed as he could get it. John took a quick look back into the locker to make sure nothing was running before he hauled himself back onto his feet.

Seven steps took him across the spacious cabin, and then he was standing in front of the cage. The little rodent inside stood on its hind legs, nose curiously sniffing the air for a pair of heartbeats before it realized that the giant mass outside its habitation was a possible threat. It gave an even louder squeak and bolted back into its little shelter.

John snorted, the hamster had been a gift from a shop owner on the citadel. He wouldn't have bought the thing, especially at the exorbitant sum the price tag demanded. He had, after all, a mission to attend to. What a so-called space hamster (He couldn't tell much difference from photos of earth-bound ones he had seen on the extranet as a kid) was doing in a shop that sold some very nice medi-gel upgrades, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that the shop owner had instantly recognized him as _the_ Commander Shepard, and immediately proceeded to drown John in claims that he never thought the Commander was actually dead, told him all about how his heroic actions had saved the entire galaxy several times over, (as if he didn't already know.) and gave him a significant discount. He also pressed the miniscule creature's cage into John's arms, despite his protests.

"Please, take him. You saved my life two years ago when the geth showed up, I'm just trying to thank you."

John had no idea how to respond to this, so he blankly accepted the shopkeeper's praise, and stumbled off as soon as possible. Garrus and Miranda had both been with him at the time, and he could tell that the turian could hardly keep from laughing his head off, while Miranda looked both amused and annoyed. To preserve as much of his dignity as possible, John had hastily placed the rodent's cumbersome container into the care of one of the citadel's friendly automated delivery services. He had watched, secretly relieved, as the hamster disappeared into the system, squeaking all the way.

Only that wasn't the end of it.

When he returned to the Normandy, he found that the delivery system had actually worked for the first time in living memory, and the cage was sitting in the copilot's seat. Joker, of course, found the whole thing hilarious, and insisted that Shepard keep it, over EDI's objections. On his regular tours of the ship, he found that the entire crew knew, and he good-naturedly endured their friendly jibes.

When the hamster again stuck its nose out an air hole, John wondered what the big deal with pets was. As a spacer kid, he didn't have the luxury of owning a Spot, Max, or Mittens, so he never really understood why people liked them so much. Abruptly, John shook his head, turned, and lurched back to the locker.

*****

Ms. Miranda Lawson stood in the short, empty space that sat between the elevator and the door that led to Shepard's room. On one hand, she couldn't think of a reason _not_ to open that door, but at the same time, coming up here to see the Commander just seemed… forward. Which was stupid, seeing as the man had visited her plenty of times, and never gave a hint of a double motive. Chiding herself on her nerves, she reached forward and hit the buzzer. A muffled _clank_ was heard from inside, and Shepard's voice floated through the door. "Yes? Who is it?"

"Miranda Lawson, Commander. I need to speak with you." A moment passed.

"Sure, I'm not doing anything particularly perverse right now." A faint smile touched her lips, though it quickly faded. She thumbed the door control, and it slid open, just in time for her to see Shepard let himself fall onto his rear end as he apparently tried to get up off the floor. By the time he had managed to scramble to his feet and assume a more-or-less military posture, Miranda was standing at the top of the three stair steps that connected the sleeping area to the office area. _Cutting off his means of escape_. She thought to herself.

"The Illusive Man needs to speak with you. Head down to the conference room, you'll be able to talk to him there." A small frown of confusion knotted Shepard's features.

"Why did you have to come all the way up here to tell me that? Couldn't EDI have let me know, or something?"

"It would have done just that, except that the speaker to this room appears to be malfunctioning, so she sent me to tell you."

"Ah, I was wondering why everything was so quiet. Something's usually wrong when it gets that way."

"Indeed." Miranda turned to go, but stopped. A hint of orange seemed to be emanating from Shepard's locker. "Commander?" She asked somewhat hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, this. My new hobby." He said, grinning.

Miranda took a few steps closer to Shepard, the better to get a good look at the contents of the locker. When she finally saw what was inside, she froze, then looked at the Commander, aghast.

"What the hell is that?" She demanded, though she knew full well what it was. Shepard's pristine, grey, Cerberus-issued advanced N7 armor, was no longer grey, or pristine. The boots, greaves, chest piece, arm pieces, gloves and helmet that comprised the combat hardsuit had been colored bright, florescent orange, with bright purple highlights.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Shepard said, still grinning. Miranda could only nod, barely, caught as she was between the urge to gape, and the urge to laugh herself to death. "I found that this is the best way to take my mind off things. I find the most appalling color scheme I can think of, apply it to my armor, and then take it off before we go on our next mission.

Regaining her self control, she let a smile slip onto her face. "What? You never considered leaving it on? I'm sure that having it bright pink, with little hearts on it, would do wonders for your negotiating skills."

"Only when I'm dealing with humans. Asari might just think it was the new, absurd, human style fashion" Though her eyes were on the suit, Miranda could tell that Shepard was focusing on _her_ as he said this. Despite the completely innocent tone of the situation, she found that her stomach had just done a little flip-flop. Which, she reminded herself, was ridiculous, given the circumstances.

"I should go, the Illusive Man wants to speak with you, and I don't want to keep him waiting" She said to excuse herself. Shepard vocalized his assent, and the smile slid off his face. Miranda found herself oddly saddened by that.

*****

_Horizon_.Operations_ Chief Williams. Collector attack. Illusive Man hiding something, but what?_

Shepard was absorbed in his thoughts, to the point where he didn't notice that Miranda was waiting by the elevator until he had practically walked right into her.

"You heard?" He asked.

"Yes, I've told everyone else, they're all getting ready as we speak. They should be ready to go by the time we reach Horizon."

"Good" he said. But Miranda didn't move, she just stood there, a teasing smile on her face. "Something else?"

"Yes. Aren't you forgetting something?"

John frowned, and ran down his pre-mission checklist. Nothing was out of place, save the fact that he himself had to gear up before planetfall. "No, not that I can tell. What am I missing?"

Miranda's sudden resemblance to a hunting catamount just before the kill did nothing to soothe his relentlessly spinning head. She did turn and enter the elevator though, which left Shepard wondering what she was talking about. When he followed her however, she didn't hit the button to take her back downstairs, but waited for Shepard instead.

"I want to see your face when it hits you."

"When _what_ hits me?" He asked, now frustrated. Then he sighed, and hit the button. In a few moments, the door opened, he strode out, opened his cabin, walked to the locker, then stopped short.

"Oh" was all he could think to say.

"Not enough time to change it back, I'm afraid." Said Miranda, quite cheerfully.

"Shut up" said Shepard, though without any real malice. He had to admit, however, that florescent orange armor with purple highlights was probably not going to strike fear into the hearts of the collectors. Nor was it, perhaps, going to make a good impression upon a certain member of his old crew that he hoped to see once he reached Horizon.


	3. Definition of Insanity

Author's notes:

These one-shots are, as you might be able to tell, in no particular order. At times, they might contradict, but I'll try to keep any confusion to a minimum.

Thanks for all the positive reviews! I didn't realize how addicting they were until I actually started posting.

*****

"They are insane."

Commander John Shepard, hero of the blitz, savior of the Citadel, was referring to the Citadel Council when he said this, and fantasizing, not for the first time, that he had let them die two years ago.

"Oh? How do you figure?" Said Miranda from his side as he marched down the presidium. "Stubborn, self-centric and egotistical perhaps, but not insane."

"Insane. Definitely insane." Any and all individuals in his path seemed to be able to sense the frustration and anger boiling off of the approaching, deceased Spectre. They all scattered, as though he might bodily harm them if they did not. He wouldn't, of course, but he allowed himself some sense of self-righteous fury.

Some pedestrians sent angry glares as they stepped aside, some eyes widened in recognition, and whispers floated from all around. Shepard ignored all of this as he stepped up to a taxi stop and signaled for a pick-up. He turned, and there Miranda was, leaning on her left foot with one eyebrow raised. Garrus was somewhat farther behind, trying to catch up through the crowd. Apparently, Shepard's aura of 'bad mood – stay away' did not extend to the turian.

"Again, how do you figure?" Ms. Lawson asked as an air-taxi pulled in. Shepard got inside, and waited for Garrus and Miranda to follow before responding.

"You ever heard the definition of insanity?" He asked.

"Yes." Both said at the same time. "Repeating an action again and again and expecting a different result." Said Miranda.

"Close enough." Shepard said as the taxi took off, destination: The Wards.

"No, not really." Said Garrus unexpectedly. Shepard and Miranda both turned to the suddenly uncomfortable-looking turian. "Well, you humans have your own definition, but we turians have a different one."

"Oh? Spit it out."

Garrus's posture suddenly took on resemblance to a schoolboy called up to the front of the class. "The clinical definition of insanity is when –" He didn't manage to finish, as a loud _bang_ sounded in the cramped shuttle, and a spider web of cracks appeared in the window. Shepard later found out that a 'sertack', a type of large, bird-like animal native to a distant turian colony had somehow escaped its owner and had made a bid for freedom, and was subsequently hit by the taxi. By the time they had reached their destination, all conversation had effectively been halted. After hastily abandoning the damaged craft, Shepard and his teammates soon found themselves laughing off the adrenaline-spike moment. They returned to the Normandy with no further incidents, the Commander pointedly avoiding a store, or more specifically, a store owner that had thrust a hamster into his arms.

They were soon on their way to their next destination - the team wasn't going to recruit itself, after all - and Shepard decided to go make his usual rounds of the ship. He had no sooner opened the door to Miranda's quarters then she had started the conversation.

"I'm still at a loss as to why you seem to think the Council is mentally unstable."

Miranda was, as usual, sitting at her desk, typing something into the holographic keyboard. A very small, very ignored part of Shepard's mind was disappointed that he had not yet managed to walk into her room in time to see her getting dressed. That thought was dismissed instantly.

"Oh, right. I suppose I didn't get to explain earlier. Definition of insanity;" He said. "Repeating an action over and over again and expecting a different result. That's what the Council keeps doing." John started pacing. "First, they thought I was lying, misinformed, or insane when I warned them about Saren. When I proved them wrong, they thought I was lying, misinformed or insane when I warned them about Sovereign. Now they think I'm lying, misinformed or insane every time I warn them about the Reapers. See a pattern here?"

"Maybe." Miranda said. "But you can't trust the Council to do the right thing, and you certainly can't trust them to protect us, that's why Cerberus exists."

"I don't trust Cerberus." Shepard said flatly. "But I'm starting to think that they've got some of the right idea."

"You think 'they've' got some of the right idea?" Miranda asked, her mouth slightly curled with amusement. "Last I checked, I _am_ Cerberus."

"Maybe." Shepard said, a grin starting to form. "But you can't trust Cerberus to watch your back. I do trust you."

"That's flattering." Miranda said, and John got the sense that she meant it. "But if the Council is insane because it keeps on ignoring you, then I have to declare you unfit for duty."

"Oh? How do you figure that?" Shepard asked, mirroring her own words from not too long ago.

"Well, you continue to ask for the Council's help, and they never give it. If the Council is insane for not believing you, then you are equally insane for continuing to try."

Shepard just stared at her for a moment, then his face broke into a full-fledged smile and he laughed. When he regained control of his lungs, Miranda still had a faint smile on her lips. "Point." He said. "I'm no good at these verbal fencing matches."

"You seem to feel differently whenever we're on a mission." Miranda responded. "I haven't yet seen someone you haven't been able to beg, bully or bribe into doing what you want." 

"That's different. And I object to being called a beggar!" Shepard finished with another laugh.


	4. Revision of Sanity

Revision of Sanity

There were days on the Normandy SR2 where everything went smoothly. Crew shifts passed without incident. Maintenance was carried out without difficulty, and Commander John Shepard was incapable of getting his steadily-growing team into undue amounts of trouble.

Today was not one of those days.

The first hint of the madness that would shortly seize control of the ship was the sharp _squeak_ of a startled space hamster, in Miranda Lawson's personal quarters. The Cerberus operative had spent a full ten minutes attempting to locate the elusive rodent, but to no avail. Miranda later heard that it had ended up in Mess Sergeant Gardner's newly-restocked ingredient cabinet and narrowly escaped becoming a pot of chicken/space hamster soup.

The second sign was Tali-Zorah Vas Neema coming up from the engineering deck to inform Shepard that the mass effect field core was 'gooping'. A strange malfunction whereby every particle of loose matter in the atmosphere – dust, hairs, water vapor, bits of protein bar that Jack had biotically pulverized the day before – was condensed into a disgusting sludge by the intense dark energy fields, rather than being removed by the air filters. This sludge had apparently found its way into the Commander's personal shower that morning, which explained why he used the general crew bathroom that day.

This had been the beginning. When Jacob Taylor started wondering why the Collector particle-beam weapon recovered on Horizon was missing from the armory, things just started snowballing. Before she knew it, Miranda was trying to keep up with all the new reports of strange and annoying happenings occurring all over the ship. Given that the Normandy was not all that big, it amazed her that so much could go wrong all at once, and somehow not be destroying the ship.

Several hours later, Miranda was trying to figure out _why_ the Normandy was stuck halfway between the Illium and the system's mass relay, and not moving closer to either one. Given that the pilot was in a heated argument with a strangely combative AI, it was not easy.

Eventually, the frustrated woman just gave up, and stalked back to her quarters to collect herself. Rather than sitting down at her station in a futile attempt to make sense of the situation, she just threw herself backwards onto her bed; legs hanging of the edge, hand rubbing her forehead.

Right then, the door alarm chimed, signaling that someone requested entry. For a moment, Miranda toyed with the idea of telling whoever it was to go away, in rather un-polite terms. Ultimately though, she sighed, sat up, and said 'come in' aloud to the door. Commander Shepard walked in.

"Can you believe this?" he said without preamble, gesturing out the door. He looked just as disheveled and ill-tempered as she felt.

"Not really" she answered. "Given that we're surrounded by billions of cubic kilometers of vacuum, I'm amazed that no-one has died yet."

Shepard sighed, then ran a hand over what little hair his adherence to military regulations allowed. "I know. It's crazy" he said." "I grew up on various ships with one of my parents or the other, and I only remember this many things going wrong exactly once." He grimaced. "And mass effect core 'gooping', got into my shower then too."

Miranda stared for a second, then laughed. It was only for a few moments, but she laughed. Shepard looked aghast. "It's not funny" he protested, then stopped for a moment. "Okay, maybe it's a little bit funny. But regardless, I wouldn't expect a repeat performance on a ship like the Normandy." A frown formed on his face. "You remember the hobby of mine I showed you, just before Horizon?" He asked.

Miranda, a little surprised at the abrupt change in topic, then remembered. Florescent orange, with bright purple highlights. "I remember" she said. Then her eyebrow rose. "Let me guess: You've accidentally locked your armor in a less than satisfactory setup?"

"Close enough" he answered. "I'm halfway between looking like a stormtrooper and looking like an overgrown wasp."

"Stormtrooper?" the woman asked, a little confused.

Shepard looked at her, oddly. "Stormtrooper. As in, white-armored Imperial soldier?" he said.

Now Miranda was wondering what the hell he was talking about. "You're going to have to explain that one to me" she said.

Shepard's mouth was working like a fish's. After a few moments, he snapped his jaw shut, then grinned. "So, I take it you've never seen _Star Wars_?" He asked.

"Is that some sort of movie?" she asked back. A sense of uneasiness came to her as the N7 operative's grin just got even wider.

"Wait here a minute. I'll be back." And he was gone. She sat for a moment, blinking rapidly. In an attempt to regain control of her mental state, she got up, walked to her desk and sat back down.

Before she could do anything else, the Commander came back, holding an OSD. "Too bad you don't have a larger screen, that's the only way you can truly appreciate it" he said.

Miranda scowled at the OSD. It looked to be one of the older models, maybe a good thirty years old.

"When I was growing up, I stuck a lot of old time movies, television shows and books on this thing. I'd left this with some other personal items in an Alliance locker away from the original Normandy. They were apparently retrieved by Cerberus, since I found this up my cabin" he explained.

"Ah" Miranda replied. "By 'old time', just how old are we talking?"

"Well, there's at least one from the year 1950, but the one I'm going to show you is from 1977."

The cerberus operative's eyebrow shot up again. "Show me? I believe that, technically, we're both on duty. And in the middle of this insanity is hardly the appropriate time anyway."

John snorted. "Actually, it's the perfect time. It's not like we can do anything anyway. As for 'on duty', I'm the one in charge of this mission, and there are perks to the position." He stopped for a moment. "As for the insanity part, I learned a while back that the best way to deal with insanity is to redefine your view of sanity."

Miranda let her forehead drop into her hand. Idly, it occurred to her that she had never let any such displays of emotion show to anyone before. Being raised in her early life under her father's thumb had trained her to keep everything bottled up inside her. After only a few weeks, Commander John Shepard had managed to get past all her barriers. Had made her trust him, like she trusted no-one else.

She reflected that he must have had a lot of practice at it.

He _was_ right, after a fashion. It wasn't as though she could do anything about the various and bizarre problems plaguing the ship. At this point, she wasn't even trying. The only other thing she could think of doing would be to file and send reports back to the Illusive Man, but there was nothing noteworthy to report, apart from the day's difficulties. She couldn't really think of a reason why not.

"All right" she said slowly, and looked up. "Is this going to drive me insane with scientific inaccuracies and horrific special effects?" she asked wryly.

Shepard smirked. "Well, it _was_ the late 20th century, that time period produced a lot of views of what the future would be, some were more accurate than others."

**M**

Ironically enough, the science-fiction movie that John Shepard insisted was a classic did not, technically take place in the future. That was obvious enough, since it began with the words _A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_ Shepard had called it science-fantasy.

The movie, all the way from its rather loud introduction to its cliché ending, was surprisingly entertaining. Though she couldn't entirely believe Shepard when he said that it had spawned many more movies, several shows and hundreds of books, comics and other money-wasting ventures.

In his words, _Star Wars_ had been an entire industry for decades. And he was apparently still amazed that she had never heard of it.

And now she had a better idea of what he meant when he said that his N7 armor looked halfway like the seemingly very ineffective stormtrooper armor.

**M**

John Shepard walked out of Ms. Lawson's personal quarters, rather content and very pleased with himself. After all, it wasn't every day he managed to get the normally strict and professional cerberus operative to let her hair down, metaphorically speaking. He was, however, rather confused by a slack-jawed crewman whose eyes kept flicking between Shepard and Miranda's office door before he inexplicably ran off.

He entered the elevator, hit the button for the engineering deck, and was pleased to note that the light had stopped flickering the age-old signal SOS over and over again. Tali reported that most of the problems had been solved, though she also said that Shepard would likely still need to avoid his personal shower for the time being.

Garrus was equally optimistic. His major difficulty had been that the newly-installed thanix cannon had kept deploying and retracting on its own, no matter how many times the annoyed turian reset the system. He was much happier now that the problem had been replaced with a much simpler persistent computer glitch. Though Shepard was somewhat curious as to why Garrus looked as though he would burst out laughing at any moment, he didn't dare ask why.

During his walk up the bridge, he noticed that every crewman suddenly stopped talking and stared as he passed. They tried to be discreet, but for Shepard, it was almost impossible not to notice. It wasn't until he talked to Joker that he found out why.

The formerly disgruntled pilot and EDI had settled their dispute – for the moment – and the cripple couldn't seem to keep a grin off his face.

"So, uh, Commander," he started, when Shepard's disquiet reached unbearable levels. "You finally found someone to do some stress relief with? I didn't think she was your type."

For a moment, the words flew right past Shepard without him realizing what the man had just said. Then they turned right around and rammed right into the forefront of the Commander's brain.

"_What!"_ he spluttered, echoing, if he had known it, Miranda's reaction to Garrus not too long before.

"C'mon, Commander" he said, grin getting wider and wider. "You walk into a beautiful woman's room, stay there for two hours, and come out looking like the cat that swallowed the canary? Could it get any _more_ obvious?"

Dimly, Shepard noted that for the second time that day, he looked like a fish. "I – I, you…" he snapped his mouth shut, then pointed, glowering, at the pilot. "Joker, you are obvious a disturbed, lonely, lonely man. Go get yourself a girlfriend or something, I _wasn't_ 'doing it' with Miranda."

"Ooooh, it's first names now, it _must_ be serious."

Shepard's jaw worked noiselessly for a few moments. Then, in his deepest, most threatening voice, said "I find your lack of faith disturbing." He turned and stalked off the bridge, leaving Joker's howls of laughter far behind.

****M****

Author's note:

It's been a while since I updated. I guess I just succumbed to review deprivation.

Oh, and it took me a while to figure out how the heck to make section breaks.


End file.
